The quality of life stood still

Press, Volume CXV, Issue 33792, 14 March 1975, Page 4

The quality of life stood still

The best that coaid be said for Wednesday night’s viewing, as for most nights, is that while it did not enhance the quality of our lives, nor did it I significantly detract from them. First off after “The South! Tonight” was the 1975 Polynesian Festival. After search-i ing our conscience as rigorously as a flagellant! saint, we do not think we can accuse ourselves of being a white racist supremacist pig, but nevertheless we did not find this programme particularly interesting. However, it reflects a genuine and substantial minority interest which has just a strong a claim to viewing time as the minority interests devoted to opera, ballet or the N.Z.B.C. Symphony Orchestra * » ♦

The final episode in the present series of “Ironside” followed the Polynesians. We cannot truthfully aver that great salty tears rolled down our cheeks, or indeed up them, for that matter, as we watched it go. but we were in fact quite sorry. When we were a very little television critic we were inclined to say cruel things about the World’s Greatest Paraplegic Detective, but enforced familiarity with the' programme has bred a certain 1 lessening of contempt. . It is not a patch on realistic'

programmes like “Softly, Softly” or the old Z-Cars, but if approached uncritically can be harmlessly entertaining. It is thus distinguishable from “The Waltons,” which, if approached tn an uncritical spirit, can actually cause brain damage. ❖ * * “Seven Days” is establishing itself as potentially the most successful N.Z.B.C. news magazine. Its logogram is the most attractive of those so far devised for such programmes, its front men and interviewers have an agreeablv casual and humorous approach to their tasks, and its contents sei-

dom drive one to the teapot or the bathroom. However, having searched our conscience as rigorously as another flagellant saint, and having decided we could not accuse ourselves of being a male chauvinist pig, we nevertheless found ourselves ungripped by the item on International Silly Cross Women’s Year, or whatever it is called. Several of the speakers were labelled “Feminist,” an occupation from which we assume men are excluded on the grounds of their sex. It appears from the interview with the vulcanologist in the item on Ngauruhoe that the whole middle of the North Island could go up in smoke at any minute. He seemed quite cheerful about the prospect. Items about potential natural disasters probably perform a valuable function, but they do induce a sense of complete helplessness at the same time. What, after all. can be done?

As David Beatson pointed out, Wellington is built on an earthquake fault Jine. The Government can hardly make everybody in the North Island south of Hamilton go and live in Otago. And even if it did they would probably all die of porridge.

The question “Whatever; Happened To The Likely Lads” is easily answered. They got better and funnier than they were in their original series which we saw when we were in England on a working holiday, don’t you know. (Would you like to see our slides? That’s us looking for the gents at the House of Commons and here we are feeding the lions on Nelson’s Column in Trafalgar Square). This programme is in the highest tradition of British television comedy. The humour arises out of what the characters are, and not from whatever dirty lines the scriptwriters have given them to say. (It’s all right. I’m not going to go on again about “Casanova ’73).

They can keep reviving this programme as often as they like. We are already looking forward to viewing, in 10 years time. “Son of Whatever Happened To the Likely Lads Meet Steptoe and Son.” —A.K.G.